Day Nine

As you may have already guessed, I live in an apartment on the west side of Los Angeles. Recently we’ve had strong winds. Flowers dried out, I opened the screen door to water. As I did, a bird, yellow, an escaped canary? (I can only surmise, don’t think they’re indigenous,) flew into the kitchen, head-on into the side window, and flopped to the floor. Charley, from I don’t know where, pounced. I yelled, “It’s a bird,” his paw already on it, wings flapping, wedged against the refrigerator. A loud “No!” I could see him eating it, blood, feathers, innards, I reached for it, Charley jumped, the bird flipped free, into the air, zooming, past my face, and back out the screen door. Charley jerked, dashed out onto the balcony, but it was past the trees, and gone. Wow! I quickly closed the screen door, Charley, staring out, waving his tail, ‘Almost, damn it!’ I just stood there. One live bird, one disappointed feline. Life goes on. Then Charley rolled over on his back, so I rubbed his belly. All in a day. I watered the flowers, geraniums, Charley wandered away.

Spent the morning finishing up at the Restaurant. Focused on the main characters. No extraneous in-put from the staff. Waiters, maitre d', customers. Amber and Malcolm. He, way out of his element, more Jimmy’s burgers and curlie fries, She, a regular at Le Mademoiselle, they not only know her, but know of her. Since Malcolm’s a new-ish character, I concentrated on his actions, the more important person to the reader at this point. Fleshed him out. Gave him a personality, made him feel real.

After lunch, take a walk, cup of coffee, I’ll begin on the next phase of this 5 part scene, their next meeting. Amber pops the question, telling Malcolm it’s Emily’s birthday, and wouldn’t it be funny if he could, in the computer…you know. (Our regular readers already know.) Is it time to become a regular reader?

Thanks for coming along with me on this. Until tomorrow,

Cornelius Butterfield.